


the garden that you planted

by tweedbowties



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Coffee Shops, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 05:30:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14037210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tweedbowties/pseuds/tweedbowties
Summary: Erik works part-time at Ghost Alley Coffee while he's attending school at MIT, and he will never admit to liking Sufjan Stevens under pain of death.





	the garden that you planted

He doesn’t need this job.

Erik forced himself to swallow the anger down and focus his breathing.

In for three.

Hold.

Out for three.

Fucking shit. No, he needs this stupid job.

Shit, Harvard kids _sucked_. Legit sucked. The worst of them were pretentious assholes who reeked of Old Money, going to exclusive parties and talking about Daddy this and My Esteemed Father that. If that wasn’t the case, they were trying to be the next Mark Zuckerberg. It made him desperately want to avoid Harvard Square, so it figured he got hired smack in the middle of it.

Ghost Alley Coffee is actually a bougie joint, right across from the University. Usually, it’s a pretty sweet gig. The folks he sees most are regular decent college kids, or young professionals, or typically rich, typically white tourists that feel ‘bad’ for the poor black barista so they tip pretty well. Then there’s these assholes.

“Sorry, what?” Erik’s voice is dry as he stares at the douchebag in front of him.

“Uh, you made my drink wrong.” The guy insists, as he pushes the sleek black to-go coffee cup over.

Erik takes one look at the guys’ thick matte glasses and Harvard hoodie and fights the scowl on his face. He takes the drink back, feigning a concerned smile.

“So there’s no whip, and it doesn’t taste like you used soy.” He _whines_. Fucking whines. For real.

Oh, yeah. These fucking kids are the worst. Faux environmentalist assholes who say they care about the rainforest but who continue to use cardboard sleeves and to-go cups instead of reusable mugs. His glasses probably aren’t even prescription. He’s soy for the aesthetic not for the fucking lactose intolerance.

A pretty white boy with long curly hair who could potentially be Erik’s type, if he wasn’t such an insufferable fuck. He doesn’t do bratty, thanks. He prefers girls to guys for sure, but there was something about gay, well-dressed anime boys that gave him a special sorta joy.

“Sorry,” Erik can play nice. He can play sweet as fucking sugar as he takes the drink back and reaches for the whip cream. “I definitely forgot about the whip cream, my man, but are you sure about the soy? I take that shit pretty seriously, y’know? I’m lactose-intolerant myself.”

Yeah, it was a lie. So what? Erik knew for a fact that he’d actually put soy in the drink, because he has classmates that he actually cares about that are actually lactose-intolerant. Never mind the fact that he does a job fucking right the first time around.

Poor dude looks panicked at that. A dark red blush colors his cheeks. He glances at the name he’d previously written on the cup - James. Alright, James.

“I, uh - no, maybe you’re right, this is fine, thank you.” James stutters, as Erik upends the can of whip-cream, applying pressure to the nozzle and spreading it on the top of the latte, once he knows he doesn’t have to re-make the entire beverage for a maybe. He slides the cup across the cool metal table of the bar. James murmurs a thank you, and he retreats back to the large wooden table in the middle of the coffee shop that was dedicated to co-working.

Erik turns and heads to the corner where the store iPad is playing the Spotify playlist. He fiddles with it for a second as he switches playlists. Yeah, he absolutely preferred the artsy Allston kids with their music. They didn’t complain about shit for anything but good reason.

Yeah, this job ain’t half bad. His customers are usually pretty solid. Ghost Alley was in Harvard, but it was close enough to his apartment. He’d worked at this company long enough to be able to work the second floor by himself on the slower weekdays, and get a solid schedule that worked with his courses. Which was good, because it was a pain to get to from school.

The music starts to play, a quiet folk voice crooning comfortably in the background. Soft indie shit that he’d never admit to liking.

_Do I care if I despise this,_  
_nothing else matters. I know_  
_In a veil of great disguises,_  
_How do I live with your ghost?_

He takes this moment to listen to the quiet sounds of the coffee shop, feeling calm slowly wash over him. In the background, he hears someone shuffling a stack of papers together.  A gentle clatter of a cup being set down against a saucer. The faint scratch of a ballpoint pen against a notepad.

Erik startled by someone clearing their throat, voice low and deep, behind him. He turns around, looking owlishly at the dude wearing a fucking fur collared peacoat in front of him. Shit, that guy is massive. Alright, nice customer service face on. He can be a good boy sometimes.

“Oh, ‘sup. What can I get for you today?”

“Just a coffee, please.” The man speaks carefully, as if his words were meticulously chosen before he opens his mouth. He’s trim, like, in the way that he actually takes care of himself and has nice muscles. Not like, trim as in he’s a lanky tall boy. He’s older for sure, could be a grad student maybe, but more likely a new professor or someone in town for a conference. Well-dressed in tailored dress pants that match his tailored gray check dress shirt. A skinny tie that was just icing on the well-dressed cake.

“Sure, just a coffee,” Erik’s words are playful, a grin teases on his face. “For here or to-go?”

“To-go, please.” The man purses his lips, pauses. “I’ve found it very difficult to get a decent cup of coffee around here. I am curious to see if this place has any merit.” See, even with his words, Erik’s not personally offended. Seems like the dude just really cares about coffee.

“We got the best drip coffee in Cambridge, I promise that. Maybe even in Somerville, too.” He boasts. He’s not a coffee snob himself, but he’s proud of the work they put into it here. “It’s gonna be a solid three dollars.” Erik rings up the transaction on the iPad. “Can I get a name for this, buddy?”

“M’Baku.”

“... M’Baku,” he repeats, reaching for one of the black to-go cups. The name sits strange on Erik’s tongue. It sounds … right, for whatever reason. No time to dwell on that. “You want room for cream or nah?” He turns his back to the man, heading to the coffee pot in the back.

“No cream, thank you.”

Erik pours the coffee into the cup, and then slides it over the counter. “Let me know how it holds up, alright?”

So this dude - M’Baku - just grins and takes the cup, large fingers curling around the sleeve. “We will see if this leaves a latte to be desired.”

“... Dude, you didn’t even get a latte.”  Erik’s nose wrinkles at the seriously painful pun. He protests at M’Baku’s back, but the man is long gone. He doesn’t get to witness the horror he’d left in his wake. Erik sighs, reaching for the cash that M’Baku had left as a tip and sliding it into the tip jar.

Alright, yeah, he’d take a five dollar tip again if he had to deal with an awful pun like that.  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> hey! this is my first contribution to the fandom, and one of my first actually published fics in a long while. not entirely sure if this is going to be a totally college au or coffee shop au yet, but there definitely will be making out at some point. have not worked in a coffee shop so full disclosure I have only some idea of what I'm doing, but I also love cambridge/boston and spend way too much time in coffee shops there. super excited to hear what y'all think. feel free to @ me on twitter at queerapostate about this!


End file.
